Destiny is Like Turtle Wax
by HomerNet
Summary: It's a new school year, and its not just Ranma that's facing new changes. A new teacher with their own secrets will stir things up even more for the martial artist.


**Destiny is Like Turtle Wax**

**a Ranma 1/2 & I, Me, My, Strawberry Eggs fanfic**

**by Dame HelenNet the Leather-clad**

_This is a work of fan-fiction. No permissions from the creators/IP holders of the source works was sought or given. If you sue me for this, you're a complete and total douche._

**Chapter 1**

Amawa Hibiki was having a bad day. Or rather, he was having a progressive series of bad days. In fact, it wouldn't be unreasonable to say he was having a bad summer. Declaring a bad _year_ was looking to be a likelihood as well.

The 24-year old, currently out of work teacher slouched in the train station seat that his last bit of cash had managed to deliver him to. All he had left to his name was just enough yen for what he hoped would be at least a night's worth of lodgings at a cheap maison and the pack that he carried. Oh, and the clothes on his back.

He was a bit surprised when the bike messenger had tracked him down at his last stop in downtown Tokyo just before he boarded the train. His lately itinerant nature had made him distinctly difficult to get ahold of, but Sanjo-san was certainly stubborn and resourceful enough to find someone to track him down no matter where he might be, thus his being merely a _bit_ surprised, rather than the floored he would have been had the delivery been from anyone else.

The parcel included a package, several letters from various parties, some from former students, not a small number from parents who just wouldn't move on even though everyone else had, and then...

Restraining orders were not common in Japan. The Nipponese tendency to limit court interactions to an absolute last resort if all other arbitration failed made the stigma of receiving a restraining order all the worse. Amawa didn't fight it. He was, in all honesty, afraid of facing Fuko or her father. Having a Lolita complex (as he had discovered it to be called over the summer) was not all that uncommon in Japan these days, to the point of being declared a national mental illness epidemic, but to actually have acted on the feelings he had experienced was several different forms of shameful. A teacher, especially one who extolls the virtues of physical and mental discipline as a physical education teacher does, such a slip was unforgivable.

Then there was the _major_ problem that the girl _reciprocated_ his feelings. Electra complexes were also not uncommon. Throw a Lolita-complex in with an Electra-complex and you get...

Amawa sighed as he carefully folded the restraining order back into thirds and slipped it back into it's envelope. That chapter in his life was, hopefully, over. The effects were still resonating, however. He still couldn't get a job. The instant "Hibiki, Amawa" was entered into the computer by the school's hiring secretary, that was the end of whatever job prospects might have existed for an inexperienced young man accused of pedophilia. That nothing actually _happened_ was immaterial. He knew in his heart that he had a problem with at least the one under-aged student. Hell, even _he_ didn't know if it would grow to other students, school boards were right to be concerned.

Or, there was the _other_ problem. _If_ the school didn't think to check for _male_ Amawa Hibiki's in the system, the only listed teacher with experience by that name was listed as a woman. A couple of the schools he'd applied at had made the connection. He and "she" were one and the same, which either led to an awkward, long explanation or a slammed door. Those that didn't make the connection, naturally, assumed that the name similarity was purely coincidental.

The problem facing him now was that he had never had any training to be anything _but_ a physical education teacher. That was his goal, his dream. To do anything else would be survival, nothing more. Not that he _could_ do anything else. He had done a few odd jobs over the last couple months just to stretch his meager funds and had been fired from all of them. Not that he was incompetent...no, that would be lying to himself. He _was_ incompetent at anything but teaching. "Those who can't do..." and all that.

Putting the envelopes in his bag, he turned his attention to the package. It was large enough that it could be holding quite a lot, but small enough that it was easy enough to carry on the train. Ba-chan did like to think ahead like that.

Taped to the outside of the package was an envelope. Attempts to be neat at tearing off the tape proved futile, and it was a small miracle that the letter inside wasn't mangled beyond comprehension. Carefully discarding what he could of the envelope shreds, he smoothed out the letter and read, half-consciously keeping his stuff gathered close to him to ward off sticky fingers.

"_Hibiki-san,_

_I know the economy's tough, but this is getting ridiculous!"_

Amawa rolled his eyes. Sanjo-san had a gruff humor that took getting used to, but once you learned to recognize it the curmudgeonly attitude lost most of it's punch.

"_I expect you to get yourself a job to pay off the debt you still owe on your room. Not to mention the kennel fees I'll be charging to keep this stringy, sorry excuse for a meal you call a dog fed and watered."_

He found himself chuckling at that. Ba-chan had sent him pictures of Kura Ge, and he was quite healthy and clearly enjoying himself.

"_I've managed to pull some strings and found out there's an opening for a physical education teacher at Furinken High School..."_

Amawa's eyebrows shot up at that. Surely there was no way Sanjo-san could know that the next station he would be stopping at after receiving the package was the Nerima district station. Then again, she had an uncanny knack for turning up just when he needed her...

"_...and they're a bit desperate for a replacement. The place has a bit of a reputation for being hard to work at, but then with your work history, it should be a walk in the park."_

He snorted at that. He could just _imagine_ Ba-chan cackling as she wrote that sentence.

"_I know what you're thinking, 'What about experience? They won't hire a teacher who's been out of school for a year and hasn't even got a job to his resume.' Well, boy, I think you'll find the contents of the package attached to this letter will resolve that problem nicely._

_Get your backside in gear and get me my money!_

_-Lulu Sanjo"_

Wrinkling his brow, he turned the letter over to see if anything was written on the back that would clue him in to the contents of the package. Nothing was there, naturally, and he knew he was merely stalling. He tucked the letter into his jacket pocket and used a fingernail to slit the packing tape on the package. The events of last year had given him that benefit, at least. His nails were better taken care of and stronger than he'd ever had them. Opening the flaps of the box quickly one at a time, he pulled back the last one to reveal exactly what he had expected, what he was dreading, and what a secret part of him cheerfully welcomed. Atop a pile of neatly folded clothes was a leather strap with a buckle at one end, notches for the buckle at the other, and in the middle was a chevron shaped piece of metal that he knew contained some of the most advanced audio electronics on the planet.

He sighed in defeat and picked up the box, looking for a place he could change clothes, appearance, and resume a life he thought he never would see again.

0o0o0

Ranma Saotome, greatest martial artist of his generation, possibly the greatest martial artist in the world, killer of gods (or, at least, a demi-god), friend to many, enemy to many, many, many more, and fiance to _at least_ three girls and pursued by many, many, many others, was presently having a sulk.

"Honestly, Ranma, I don't see what the fuss is. You've gotten away with wearing your silks for longer than anyone ever expected, anyway!" said Akane, holding a blouse up against her torso and faux-modeling it for herself in a nearby mirror.

"Hmph!" groused Ranma. He was pleased that he was able to make it to the store in male form the whole way and was presently away from any sources of cold water, so was suitably relaxed enough to have his hands thrust into his pants pockets and his neck slumped forward. He looked, for all the world, like a six year old being forced to go clothes shopping.

Given that Ranma's social development ended somewhat abruptly when his father decided to take him on a 10 year training journey and consequently had every waking moment devoted to learning martial arts rather than the usual undertakings of children, that is, playing with friends and going to school, this wasn't far from the truth. 17-year old Ranma Saotome, master of the Chestnut Fist, the Soul of Ice, and the Hiru-shoten-ha, was being forced to go clothes shopping...for school uniforms.

"Indeed, son. It isn't proper to flaunt authority so much." said his mother, Nodoka Saotome. Ranma's reply was to mutter under his breath low enough that only Akane could hear him. She giggled a bit, piquing Nodoka's curiosity. "Please don't mutter, dear. If you have something to say, please do so out loud."

"I said," spoke Ranma without turning to face his mother, "That the 'authority' is nuttier 'n a fruitcake!"

Nodoka's mouth pressed into a thin line. When she saw the uniform requirements being pressed upon her son, she took it to the highest authority they could on such short notice, that being the school principal. Principal Kuno was known for many things; his obsession with palm trees and hawaiian shirts, his bad singing voice and even worse Ukeleilei playing, his fettish for short hair on _everyone_...but 'sanity' somehow didn't find it's way into the same galaxy as the tropically inclined head of faculty. "Be that as it may, one does not simply rebel without cause."

At that, Ranma turned to his mother, mouth open with ready reply, but her iron look stopped his retort cold. "Yes, momma." Ranma returned to his sulking.

Akane, having made her decision, turned to face her fiance directly. "It's not going to be so bad, really. You'll just be wearing different clothing, is all."

"Yeah, well the second set of uniforms is the _stupidest_ thing the principal has ever made me do!"

"Actually, I think it was Miss Hinako's idea." mused Akane, "She kept growling about how delinquent you were during the last volleyball game last year." Even though Ranma hadn't even wanted to be in the game, the usual wackiness dragged him in anyway.

Ranma took affront to this. "Hey! It's not _my_ fault the..."

"Yes it is, Ranma. _You_ picked the shirt, _you_ chose to make that spike, _you_ didn't bother to fix it after the point. You didn't have to hog the ball, by the way. I was on the team, too."

"Well, it aint like it matters for me, I'm a guy after all..."

Akane rolled her eyes. "You'd better care about it this year, 'cause it's going to get you detention _at least_ if something like that happens again, _especially _if you're wearing a uniform that actually _fits_ you, instead of being two sizes too small. What in the world were you thinking, borrowing _Sayuri's _shirt?"

Face now burning hotly, Ranma muttered again, "...didn't think it'd matter that much..."

Nodoka cleared her throat, "Since Akane seems to be finished," she paused for Akane's nod of affirmation, "It is time to finish your shopping. Please go change, son, so we can measure you and find your other uniform."

Ranma didn't _quite_ stomp off to the nearest drinking fountain, but he came very close to it. One splash with cold water later, Ranma-chan almost-stomped back to her mother, blush spreading up her face as she experienced very acute feminine embarrassment as she recalled exactly what "measuring" entailed, which was far more, she felt, than any boy should be required to know about female dress habits.

As Nodoka spoke to a nearby sales lady about getting her son-ne-daughter measured, Ranma and Akane stood next to each other in silence. Akane was examining a slip idly when Ranma interrupted the silence unexpectedly.

"I suppose I'm a pervert for this, too." she muttered under her breath.

Akane blinked in surprise and turned to see Ranma staring fixedly at exactly nothing. She recognized this as similar to Ranma's usual behavior whenever one of the three Tendo sisters managed to drag (in Akane's case), swindle (common for Nabiki), or simply ask (as though Kasumi ever needed to do any more than that) Ranma into a shopping trip to the ladies intimates department. This was shadowed by something deeper that she also recognized and had only seen once or twice in the entire time she'd known Ranma; she was afraid. Sure, she'd never admit it, but Akane realized that the prospect of wearing a girl's uniform held all sorts of implications for the aqua-transexual that Akane was only dimly aware of at that moment.

Before Akane could respond, however, Nodoka called the smaller "girl" over. Ranma sighed in defeat and walked over to her mother, about to get a change of clothes, an understanding of her appearance she _never_ wanted in this form, and begin a life that she had hoped to never see at all.


End file.
